It was much later that morning.

Mister Vimes sat at his desk. Piles of paperwork were held to the sides now with glue.

"Reg?" he asked. "I don't mean to be rude, but you smell terrible."

"I lost a mouse earlier," he said. "Rosebud died when someone trod on her."

"Is Rosebud in your pocket, Reg?" said Vimes carefully.

"No, sir, I wanted to bury her in the garden, but – time wouldn't allow."

Vimes shuffled his paperwork.

"I was getting late for work, sir."

"Reg?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"You smell… odd."

"I was out with Angua, Cheery and Sally last night, sir. Biers," he explained.

Vimes coughed. "Had a good time?" he said eventually.

"Oh yes, sir!"

"Bingley-bingely-beep!" Vimes hit his hand against his breast pocket. He wore a light blue suit ready for lunchtime.

"Time for lunch!" cried Vimes' imp. "Meeting with laywers re: swamp dragon sanctuary!"

Reg winced and told the truth.

Vimes stared at him over his desk for the next ten minutes of Reg's tale of alcohol and woe. He scribbled something in his notebook about Sir Patrick.

"Then," said Reg, "Mr Slant bribed Igor's splatter into letting us back in."

"What was Mr Slant doing there?"

Reg hesitated. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I think he was very keen in being as conservative as possible whilst being as open as can be."

"Reg? What about this bogeyman and Susan?"

"Oh, he was harassing her and I tried to break them up."

Vimes pinched the top of his nose. "Bingley-bingley-beep!" said his imp.

Commander Vimes held the disorganiser to his lips and said, "Relay this message: I can't make it today. We'll talk later, to my wife. End message.

"Reg, tell me everything that happened in Biers."

*'*

Mr Slant was faking a hangover in his coach. As a zombie, most of the formaldehyde was preserving his corpse, as was now the alcohol.

It was simpler, however, in front of his employees to keep faking side effects like they suffered, and expected him to as well.

"Argh," he muttered, remembering nice detail about legalising troll buses alongside the dwarf-planned underground.

Ms Spiky sniffed. "You'll be all right, sir," she said happily.

Mr Crusher was asleep in the corner. Mr Vincent had gone home, and the last human employee was resting with his head upon Crusher's shoulder.

They were due to pick up the Slant's morning employees at the Guildhouse.

The coach stopped suddenly, wheels squealing. Half of them were flung forward in the halt. Crusher and the human employee awoke on the opposite seats; Ms Spiky and Slant slammed into each other.

"Sorry, sir!" cried Ms Spiky, and climbed quickly out of the door. "What's happening?" they heard her ask the coach driver.

Police whistles sounded up and down the street.

*'*

Constable Reg Shoe staggered up the street, heading towards the Brass Bridge, lagging behind Constable Visit.

Visit rang his watch bell. "All officers! All officers!"

Reg Shoe caught him up. "No need, Washpot," he gasped. "I know this bastard."

Washpot shoved a bunch of Om leaflets into his breastplate. "It's an unholy bastard from out the Shades, Reg, not like you."

Up ahead, an armless zombie gripped a cutlass between his teeth and spun in a circle, amid cries of alarm from Ankh-Morpork citizens.

"Stop in the name of the law!" cried Constable Visit, still ringing his bell.

*'*

The door of the coach slammed open.

"Will you lot stop that wretched noise?" cried Ms Spiky to the speeding watchmen. She shut the door, keeping in the best of the oxygen, the smell, and the dark.

Mr Slant had recovered somewhat from the night before.

"Can we get on to the Lawyers Guild?" he hinted.

Crusher groaned, and levered off the human employee, who was bleeding.

Ms Spiky tossed across some bandages; he staunched the blood-flow, but they could all still smell it.

*'*

Reg Shoe skidded across the Ankh-Morpork cobblestones, and grabbed at a horse's harness for balance. The coach driver swore at him, and drove his coach onwards.

The coach's rear-door opened briefly, and a bleeding human fell out.

Reg Shoe grabbed him. They both slipped in the mud; Reg landed atop of him, and they rolled. Reg saw underneath the coach, in a tangle of horses' legs and wheels.

Reg cried, "Washpot!"

Next, Constable Visit ran past the coach, away from Sir Patrick to leap onto a milk cart.

Reg scrambled to his feet, manhandled the bleeding human into an interested woman's arms – the last Reg saw was her helping him back into the coach – weird – before Visit whacked out his handcuffs and arrested the milkman.

*'*

Vimes grunted discontentedly as Visit hauled an invisible suspect into one interview room, while Reg Shoe and Detritus moved an armless zombie into another.

"This is Sir Patrick," said Reg. "I met him last in Biers after that fight."

Visit panted, "This is Mr Soak. He's agreed to come quietly."

"And transparently," said Vimes, "by the looks of things. Wizard?"

"Milkman," explained Visit. "He caused a disturbance on the Brass Bridge, waving a magical sword around. Reg saw him, trying to cut his way through the traffic jam."

Vimes said, "Where's the sword?"

Visit shrugged. "We don't know, sir. Only the undead can see it."

*'*

Crusher hauled Mr Slant over the threshold of the Lawyers Guild and handed him over to the day staff.

"Be gentle with him," he warned. "He's been drinking all night."

Slant brushed himself off. "Thank you, Mr Crusher. I'll see you all tonight."

Ms Spiky walked in, carrying a human employee over her shoulder.

"He needs a doctor," she announced, dumping him into their arms. "And I need bed."

They left Slant, still nursing his fake hangover.

*'*

Reg Shoe sat down opposite Mr Soak.

To his consternation, someone floated through the wall wearing a lacy black cowl. He had a pale face and stark white hair, and looked somewhat feminine.

He faced away from Reg, and spoke gently.

"Mr Ronnie Soak, what are you thinking?" He began to click his fingers, then they both disappeared. The top page of Reg's notebook had been ripped out.

Reg didn't remember anything, and he got up to tell Vimes so.

*'*

Susan dragged Ronnie into Binky's stable.

"How could you get arrested like that?" she asked.

"I was getting rid of that zombie for you," said Ronnie, patting his sheathed sword. "I heard he was causing trouble last night in Biers."

Susan rubbed her scar. "I can handle it myself," she snapped.

Ronnie looked around. "Why are we here?" he asked.

"Granddad's gone away again, and the Rat dragged me in here. Can you find Granddad, Ronnie?"

Ronnie shrugged. "The yoghurt will go manky. You don't know what the Lawyers' Guild is like with manky yoghurt. The cream curdles in Ankh-Morpork faster than anywhere else in the multiverse."

CAN YOU FIND DEATH, RONNIE? Susan slumped a little as the technique left her.

Ronnie shoved his hands into his pockets. "If you put it like that, Miss Susan, I shall."

She glared at him. "I'm not doing his job forever, you know, just until he returns."